


To the patrons of the Albuquerque buses

by just_about_nothing



Category: Original Work
Genre: Albuquerque, Gen, Poetry, bus system, slam poems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-12 21:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7949206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_about_nothing/pseuds/just_about_nothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>to the patrons of the albuquerque buses is a slam poem based on observation. </p>
<p>rights reserved 2016 rbg</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the patrons of the Albuquerque buses

to the cool guys on my bus, not caring (or pretending to), i see you. i look at your tattoos- the ones on your necks, on your arms, the fancy skulls, the scrolls, the floral and animal designs. i look at you and i know we have nothing in common but those tattoos call to me. you notice me looking and sometimes i stare back, emboldened by your ink, sometimes i duck my head, ashamed. 

to the young parents with their babies, you seem to be growing younger and younger. your children, however, look the same as they always have. almost as if your age is shrinking down to meet your child's. one day i'll see one of my friends on the bus with their kid in a stroller and i'll think of you and wonder if you ever grew up. 

to the couples on the bus, you aren't there often. but when you are, i have to stare, to wonder if i'll have that same sort of affection one day or will i live my life like i'm riding this bus? alone, watching everyone else?

to the other teenagers on the bus: you are like snow in albuquerque, rare but interesting. i usually know you- or knew you- but can never talk to you. you interest me and i spend more time staring at you than i do anyone else. i wish i had more cojones so that i could speak to you. 

to the bus driver, you're not a patron but you're in this poem anyway. i spend the ride staring at people and thinking about you. when you talk, i wish you'd shut up. when you're quiet, i wish you'd tell your story. you make me wonder where you came from without even trying. 

to the guy a few years ago who spilt his mcdonald's milkshake all over the bus seat then didn't clean it up: you are an ass, sir. 

to the boy who kept hitting the STOP REQUESTED button then laughing about it: you should have been kicked off. you are a rotten apple, fouling the bus's tree of passengers. 

to the bus itself: you are one of my favourite forms of transportation and i would like to extend a formal apology from the citizens of Burque that use you daily for all the fools that abuse, mistreat, and generally fuck you up


End file.
